Southern Ouroboros

by Matt Kilby

  The day after went the same. Vick drove around with his uninvited partner, checking the cruiser’s brake system whenever he got a chance. At each diner and gas station, he nodded a smile and got nothing back until it irritated him enough to walk over and twirl his hand for the asshole to roll down his window. With a visible sigh on the other side of the glass, the deputy did.

  “I can save you time and patience,” Vick leaned against the Charger with his arms crossed. “I’m not the guy you’re looking for. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who told you to look in the first place. Following me is wasting time and another set of eyes.”

  “Just doing what I’m told,” the deputy shrugged.

  “I get that,” Vick nodded, “but go tell the sheriff what I just told you. If he doesn’t reassign you, tell him the girl who’s missing has an important daddy in Pine Haven. Important and mean. If he finds out any part of this search is sloppy, there’ll be Hell to pay. Now, you need me to write that down?”

  The window went up without any answer, but the cruiser’s engine started and the deputy left first. It was a small victory, but Vick was grateful for any at that point. As short as this one ended up, he was at least glad to remember the feeling.

  Two gas stations and a Cracker Barrel later, he found the cruiser parked next to him again with the same deputy behind the wheel, his window rolled down.

  “Sheriff said to tell you Judge Morgan is well aware of the situation,” he said with a lazy smile. “Matter of fact, he’s the one who told us to keep an eye on you.”

  “Of course he did,” Vick muttered as he walked away. He glanced back at the deputy as he got in and found him waiting for some response. The only one he gave was to drive away. He thought about putting him through his paces, seeing how fast he could push the Charger on open highway, but the Judge probably told them to arrest him on any technicality. Speeding. Littering. Jaywalking. In a matter of time, somebody might take a baton to his tail lights. He was out of time for doing this himself, his sinking stomach the last of his hope draining away. In its place he found desperation—the kind that would make him bargain with the Devil if he was handy. Then he remembered what was in the trunk.

  At the hotel, he waited for the deputy to park in his usual spot and popped the trunk with the lever under the dash. He didn’t want reports going back to Sheriff Morrell and Judge Morgan that he snuck anything up to his room. So in full view, he opened the trunk and took out the messenger bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder. He glanced over as he walked to his room but couldn’t see anything past the moon reflecting in the cruiser’s window. Nervous, though he couldn’t decide why, he breathed deep before he unlocked the door and went inside.

  As he set the bag on the bed, he realized he still didn’t understand what the thing inside did. He dumped the stone out, the dark sheen reflecting the light of the room’s only lamp. Staring at the black brick, he found the stress of the past few days—his worries about Suzanne and frustrations over Eric—slipping away. He imagined them coiling out of him as if at the end of a rope, the other end held somewhere in all that darkness. His fears and doubts were pulled away and left an emptiness he longed to fill, but the only way was to touch the stone. Joe warned him. He said to avoid it as long as he could. Looking into his eyes, he believed him. Something in the doctor had changed: a conviction of truth so firm it rarely existed outside of anyone but the insane. If he was the only one, Vick might have written him off, but there was Eric. He was as different and so convinced the change was dangerous he got as far from his family as possible. Vick brought the stone to point at his best friend the way Joe did Grady Perlson. He would burn him alive to save him if he needed to, but first he had to touch it.

  Though it was a smooth, black brick—a chunk of polished onyx—he counted three deep breaths before he reached, his fingers still two feet from the rock’s face.

  “Okay,” he told himself but found resistance, like an invisible box surrounded the stone. No matter how hard he pushed, his hand wouldn’t go closer. He wondered what would happen if he leaned with all his weight, but before he got the nerve, someone knocked on his door. With a frustrated huff, he looked over his shoulder and then at the stone, wondering how to put it back in the bag. He grabbed the bed’s sheet and smiled at his genius as he tossed it over the brick, though the idea didn’t come from him. The stone told him what to do, as crazy as the idea felt. With the sheet, he returned it to the bag and folded the flap, shoving the whole thing under the mattress. He didn’t think there was anything illegal about it, but the stone wanted it. It was for him alone and not the Creek Hollow Sheriff’s Department evidence room. With a step back, he inspected the hiding spot and turned to the door when satisfied.

  He didn’t blink to find Sheriff Morrell on the other side. By his hard expression, he wasn’t happy to be there.

  “You want to come in?”

  “No, son,” he shook his head. “More like the opposite.”

  “You found Suzanne,” Vick said, holding his breath after. He wanted his legs to buckle and sit him on the floor but forced himself to stand.

  “Not yet,” the sheriff met Vick’s eyes. Something in his told the whole story—a flicker Vick knew firsthand.

  “Her daddy’s here and apparently knows a couple of our judges.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Then neither should this,” the sheriff took handcuffs from his pocket and held them up. “I’m real sorry, but he asked me to bring you this way.”

  “Believe me,” Vick held out his wrists. “I understand.”

  He gave the mattress a final glance as he stepped out and let the sheriff close the door. He walked down and got into the back of his cruiser like a criminal and bet Judge Morgan would be at the window of the sheriff’s department to watch him arrive like one.

  Neither of them spoke during the drive, but when they got there, Morrell cut the engine and turned to look at him.

  “What’d you do to this guy? I feel like I could walk in with just your head and he’d be okay with that.”

  “I almost married his daughter,” Vick told him.

  “Jesus,” Morrell huffed, and Vick didn’t mind him so much anymore. “I’d say you got off easy.”

  As hard as Judge Morgan could make his life, Vick still didn’t think so. He weighed him against Suzanne from the beginning, but he didn’t say another word to the sheriff. When Morrell realized the conversation was over, he got out and opened the back of the cruiser. As he put his feet on the asphalt, Vick turned to the building’s front window and found the judge’s silhouette looking back. He considered waving but wanted to avoid making things worse so instead stared at his feet to make sure he didn’t trip over them.

  Inside, they processed him, complete with a mugshot and fingerprints. It was against procedure unless they had something to charge him with, which they couldn’t, but he kept quiet and played along. Complaining would earn him a harder time, and he could forget any chance of a lawsuit when everything was done. Judge Morgan had the game rigged, so any mercy would come from his merciless hands. At the thought, the scar in the middle of Vick’s forehead ached.

  When he sat on a cot in a holding cell, Sheriff Morrell came to see him. On the other side of the bars with his back against the wall, he looked sick enough to throw up.

  “Again, I’m sorry,” he started.

  “But your hands are tied,” Vick finished.

  “They are.”

  “I know.”

  “So we’re holding you on suspicion and searching your hotel room. If I had my say, you wouldn’t be here longer than necessary.”

  “I’m betting he told you to keep me the full forty-eight hours.”

  The sheriff nodded as if distracted and then snapped back into the conversation with a squint. “If you know him so well, you had to know he would come eventually. Why stick around?”

  “Someone had to look for her, and you weren’t taking me seriously.”


  “We’ve been looking,” Morrell narrowed his eyes, “but don’t have anything to go on. When we’re done with you, we’ll still have nothing.”

  “Because this isn’t the first time it’s happened,” Vick said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Did you find any of the others?” he asked.

  Morrell shook his head.

  Vick breathed through his mouth and put his head between his knees. “Let me out. If anyone can save her, it’ll have to be me.”

  “I don’t see how. This judge wants you kept and has connections to back his threats. I need this job too much to see it gone.”

  “Then I’ll sit, and when that’s over, I’ll find her.”

  “I hope you do,” Morrell sighed, “but in the meantime, there’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “He wants to talk to you. You can guess what my protests were worth.”

  “Jesus. Well, I can’t say no, can I?”

  “Afraid not,” the sheriff shook his head as he walked to the door. He barely opened it wide enough before Judge Morgan shoved through. He had the walk of a taller man and eyes that glared sharp and constant like a hawk’s. Some of the hardest criminals to pass through Starks County went nervous under that gaze, but Vick always considered them lucky to find it in a courtroom instead of across a dinner table. Suzanne’s father walked to his cell and stood close. He had nothing to fear in Vick. He knew the first time Suzanne brought him home.

  “Mr. Hafferty,” he said in that cold, contemptuous way he always had, as if the words went rotten on their way out. “Where is my daughter?”

  “Tell them to let me go, and I’ll find her,” Vick said and felt tired already, as if this was the end of an argument instead of the beginning. “If you don’t, anything bad that happens to her will be your fault.”

  “No,” the Judge shook his head sharp. “I don’t believe so. You brought her here. You made her mad enough to leave you again. What for this time?”

  “I don’t know,” Vick answered but didn’t dare lower his eyes.

  “Then it was your fault you made her hate you to begin with,” Morgan sneered, watching for Vick’s flinch at the word hate.

  “You should be happy about that,” Vick glared. “Without that slip up, we’d be family.”

  “No,” he said and Vick swore a smile lingered behind it. “We would have never been that—not that it matters now. All that does is my daughter. Where is she?”

  “I told you I don’t know.” Vick couldn’t keep calm much longer. Even as he willed them not to, his hands tightened into fists. One lapse of common sense kept him from becoming his son-in-law; the next would keep him in that cell a lot longer than two days. He closed his eyes to shut him out, but the Judge’s voice rose to the challenge.

  “Come now, Vick,” he shouted. “You may have fooled Maribeth with this trip to find her husband, but you were never a good enough deputy for something like this. You wanted her alone to have another chance, but what did you do when she said no?”

  “I would never hurt her,” Vick growled but didn’t open his eyes.

  “You have before and worse than you could with a healthy imagination and all the time in the world.”

  “You’re talking about your daughter’s murder,” Vick said.

  “Am I?” Judge Morgan asked. “I don’t remember using that word. Did you hear that, Sheriff? I think Mr. Hafferty wants to confess.”

  “Enough,” the sheriff said from the door without any authority.

  “For now,” the Judge said quieter, and Vick opened his eyes. He doubted it’d be the last time he came to torture him but welcomed any minute of peace. At the door, Judge Morgan stopped again and looked back, his eyes again cruel.

  “Whether or not you did hurt her this time, I’ll hold you responsible for however we find her. Spend your time praying she’s nothing short of pristine or hang yourself while you have a chance. That is the last mercy I’ll allow you.”

  As the door banged shut, Vick didn’t doubt him.

  10

  As the door in the distant above scraped open and heavy steps once again thumped down, Suzanne opened her eyes. At a squint, she saw enough. The big man would come and bring more bland fish stew or take away her bucket to toss its waste outside as if she was livestock, though if they were trying to fatten her up, there were better ways. If they expected any breeding out of her, they best put her to sleep or kill her, because she refused to let that happen alive. She promised herself that.

  She didn’t think anything could surprise her anymore, but this time the big man brought a card table in one hand and two folding chairs in the other. As she watched his slow progress to the bottom, she prayed the extra weight toppled him over the side and broke his neck, but he eventually stood on the other side of the bars, sticking one chair between them. He unfolded the table flush to the rusted metal, the other chair set across as if he expected her to sit with him and play gin rummy, but he didn’t take out any cards or acknowledge her unmistakable curiosity. When he left again she only had guesses, but none would come close to the truth. There wouldn’t be a best two out of three card tournament any more than a staring contest with the man in the pig mask. As with every other time she shared the pit’s air, she waited to see but didn’t do that long.

  He came back again, this time with a halogen lantern so bright she had to turn her head until her eyes adjusted, the strain giving her a headache. Her only chance against it was to close her eyes, but she refused now. The pain made her dizzy and disoriented enough she didn’t realize he still stood outside the cage when another set of footsteps descended in mere taps compared to the usual creaking. She might get that staring contest after all, though he didn’t wear the mask this time. He didn’t need to. She replayed her last minutes of freedom so many times, she recognized him by his shape and delicate walk. She might not know the dark-wired rim of his glasses or unwashed hair but memorized the way his head tilted when he looked at her, as now behind the steaming plates he carried.

  “I thought I should introduce myself,” he said in a pleasant voice, though the lantern’s light made his shy smile appear deranged. “So I figured what better way than over a real, home-cooked meal. No offense to my dear brother, of course. His meals just lack a certain finesse I thought tonight needed.”

  “I’m already shackled,” she muttered, the hate sharpening her eyes. “Unless you need me unconscious to seal the deal and want to make sure I chew and swallow all those yummy drugs in my food.”

  “That isn’t nice,” he said, his face hard and eyes cool as he put the plates down. It was fish again though did look more appetizing than the usual slop. On the plate, the sliver of gray still held a recognizable shape and lay on a bed of rice. Her stomach growled against her will, and she didn’t think she could help herself once it sat in front of her, even if they said it was absolutely drugged and of course they were going to take turns raping her as soon as she was snoring.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and shook her head. “I always forget my etiquette. Drove my father insane. Do I thank the little weirdo or his man slave after the meal?”

  “That’s enough or I will live up to every fear you’ve built in your head these last two weeks. We can use you up until nothing’s left or you can sit in that chair like a human being and eat a meal with another human being. I’ll give you that choice but warn you one more snide comment will ensure you don’t come out of this night alive. By your last breath, you’ll beg to die.”

  “Fair enough,” she nodded, though distracted. She finally knew how long she was there, but not what to do with the information. If nothing else, people must still be looking for her. She found some small hope in that.

  “Does that mean you’ll behave?” the man asked.

  She nodded again.

  “Good,” he said and looked at his brother. “You can unchain her.”

  The big man kept his place next to the bars and stared.

 
“Robert,” the man said with a thin frown. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  The big man dropped his eyes and slouched but turned to walk down the side of the cell. Behind her, he took one hand in his as he unlocked her shackles and squeezed before letting go. Pain shot through her broken thumb, but she fought back the wince, knowing the pressure was the only warning he’d give. No matter how things went over dinner, he would return any trouble she caused him. So she did nothing more than rub the base of the thumb with her other hand as she sat on her knees and looked through the bars. The small man waved a hand at the table as he pulled back his chair.

  “Please join me,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

  It’d been so long since she stood, she had trouble getting her feet to do what she wanted. She dragged them the best she could, stumbling her second step to brace on the chair.

  “Careful,” he said, his head back to look down his nose. “You don’t want to hurt yourself before dinner. There’s no better way to spoil a mood.”

  She considered some smart comment but kept her mouth shut as she stuttered the chair’s legs along and dropped into the seat. She didn’t know much about the men but took this one at his word. Someone who was all talk didn’t keep tranquilizer darts and underground cells. Part of her feared silence the first step in accepting whatever came, but she told herself it was smart. Watch and wait for some way—any way—out of this.

  When she sat with her knees between the bars, he pushed one plate to the edge of the table.

  “I’m afraid you’ll need to use your hands,” he said. “Even if you were cooperative, I don’t trust you with utensils.”

  “My hands will work fine,” she said.

  “That’s the spirit.”